um.

[thene]

I decided years ago that the pleasantness of a job was generally inversely proportional to what I got paid for it; it's the kind of thing that makes you have contempt for wealth, innit. My new part-time job pays even better than the day-job, and in theory it is a mixture of taxes (mostly small business), data entry and learning how to be an accounting clerk, which is exactly what I wanted, omg yes, the inevitable catch being, um.

Accounting creates paper - really, money creates paper - and I guess it requires a strong will to bind that paper to an orderly filing system. My new employer does not seem to possess this skill. My cubicle is walled with documents in drawers, stacks and literal shoeboxes, still advertising 'PillowSoles' or something and biroed over with months and names. There's a quarter-inch layer of dust on the backs of some of the office chairs. Also in my cubicle were three boxes of floppy discs, a Red Sox drinking cup, a CD that, to the creeping horror of my inner homestuck, was labelled 'DAVE'S PIX', and a framed picture of the Everett Little League 2002. I wondered if anyone else had ever wondered how many of them can vote now. The mysterious Dave had also left a bottle of pharmacy-grade ibuprofen - I didn't check how old it was or if there was anything still in it. In the back I found paper in giant sacks. At this point I knew I was in the smalltown-accounting equivalent of L-space and was not destined to emerge for three months.

My new employer is a quiet-mannered elderly man and his smalltalk is about bank reconciliation, mobsters and Vladimir Putin and this is the part where I realised he is actually unhinged, although it wasn't until later that he started with the periodic maniacal laughter. The mob is somehow connected to the People Upstairs, who are hacking into his computers. I'm not 1337 or anything but I couldn't help but notice that said computers aren't password-protected and Windows Firewall is turned off, and I am still not sure how I stopped myself from corpsing when I realised this. The smalltalk is, in general, rambling and encouraging and polite and I know that at some point I am going to drop off some mental patience cliff and feel less nicey-nice about being patronised for money. The things I do for money. He isn't sure of my name, but thinks it is one of two things that are not my name but share a couple of consonants in common with it.

I am learning allegedly useful things, on antiquated software that introduces tons of redundancies and opportunities for human error. I don't like his tax program and amazed it functions for 2012 law, and after asking a few questions I realised that it's not so much that he's not good at this shit as that he doesn't care if anyone's return is factually accurate or not. This isn't quite like the situation I was in with D.M., where I knew she was an incompetent hack in every respect; somehow, this guy makes enough money to not mind paying me an exorbitant sum for incredibly light work, even given all the mess and his seeming nonchalance about whether so-and-so does or does not owe money to the State of Maine. (Apparently Maine is scary and will manifest and do terrible things if you draw attention to yourself by speaking its name. I want to see it go ten rounds with Ohio now. Ohio is the state that beats you down if you try to leave. (can someone please ban me from engaging in state revenue department kismesis shipping.)) I can go with the climate, sure, but it is more or less the opposite to how my pernickety brain works.



Now look, America, I know you have this weird narrative kink for small businesses, but I can't help but notice that they are mostly terrible, dead-end places to work and the people who run them generally do so because they're too unstable to hold down a job working for anyone else. I have worked almost entirely for bugfuck crazy managers, but it's the self-employed ones who have been the least functional.

(no really, I have only worked for three outwardly normal and reasonable people, two of whom were shackled to a bugfuck business partner - and I may be being generous in including Dani K here, who was a complete dream to work for (and I barely saw her asshole partner) but who watched Fox News in the office all the time; the third would be nice newboss at otherjob, so I may just not have found out what's wrong with her yet. Not sure how unusually bad my luck is.)

Comments

[stealth_noodle]

a CD that, to the creeping horror of my inner homestuck, was labelled 'DAVE'S PIX'

Did you investigate? I do not think I could have stopped myself from investigating, even if it led only to regret and smuppets.

Ohio sent me a postcard in October asking me to un-register as a voter, and the Ohio town I last lived in in 2009 just sent me a friendly reminder that I could find the forms for local taxes online. That state, man.

[thene]

OHIO. The only state that makes you submit a fucking restraining order before it lets you go. (I remember both you and my friend C getting nasty letters about that.)

ETA: I didn't investigate yet...

[stealth_noodle]

It's too bad Ohio adopted "Hang on Sloopy" as its official state rock song when it could have just changed a few words in "Hotel California."

[1000kindsofrain.wordpress.com]

I'll add myself to the list of fucked up self employed people who can't do accountancy: my system bamboozled a judge, although working in two currencies does complicate things, and it didn't affect the outcome of the hearing. (A blog really is coming...) My accounts are done on a bespoke HTML 5 program: it takes CSV files generated via my bank and paypal and does most of the heavy lifting.

BTW I think your employer is right about the Russian Mafia: there is every chance they know everything he does on his computer, unless the OS is so old that their malware doesn't support it. But assume it is compromised: don't stick your USB drives in it; don't email yourself files from it; don't post on websites from it. Imagine everything you type on it or ever file it comes into contact with is sent to a crime gang - Russian or otherwise.

[thene]

well now you HAVE to blog it because you're leaving me in SUSPENSE and this is UNFAIR.

I, uh, realised the last time I was working for a smalltown accounting practice (the aforementioned Dani K) that to some degree accountants can only be as organised as their clients; one guy who did something construction-related used to bring us all his receipts and documents for the year in a box. A big plastic box. Then there was the one Mormon guy who had ziplocks full of receipts, some of them from Hooters. If you are doing any accounting at all you are doing way better than most of 'em.

Thanks for the advice... It's a pity, given that there is likely to be considerable opportunity for slacking, but I could take my laptop and just write without connecting it to anything. (His OS is XP Pro, so getting on a bit but not completely unrespectable. I think the Russians and the Mob were two separate interests of his, but I did not press him on the topic.)

[1000kindsofrain.wordpress.com]

I haz blogged.

I was talking to nextdoor's gardener (the woman nextdoor is a nonagenarian so she needs a gardener): the gardener had ignored all her accountants warnings, guiltily tried file her return online, the realised she couldn't do it, and emailed the accountant at the last minute... She's part of a partnership and apparently the tax affairs of partnerships are far more complicated than sole traders; but I wouldn't know because it's official: I AM NOT A PARTNER.

The judge was bamboozled because my accounts show the moment money leaves my paypal account - as that's when dollars become sterling. (Except when I buy stuff in dollars, which confused him further.) And he treated each moment I spent money as an invoice.

The computer advice started out as a joke, and then became serious... Firewall's aren't that important, if a router is in place. If Windows Update is enabled and successfully installing monthly updates, if Flash is uptodate, if Java is not installed, and if there's a virus checker with uptodate definitions, then the machine is probably fine. If you bring in a laptop, make sure it treats it like a public wifi hotspot--i.e it has it's firewall up--because malware can and will copy itself across the network. I'd probably risk posting to a blog from a supicious machine: just imagine the worst that could happen if someone got hold your password and tailor your risks accordingly.

[lassarina]

Now look, America, I know you have this weird narrative kink for small businesses, but I can't help but notice that they are mostly terrible, dead-end places to work and the people who run them generally do so because they're too unstable to hold down a job working for anyone else.

Yup.

I worked for a one-guy shop that was kind of a subset of (not really, but shared physical space with) a small accounting firm: four partners, four accountants, one receptionist, one executive-secretary type who handled the financial advice portion for two of the partners. (Plus boss and me.) Boss could never ever have worked for anyone else (or, God forbid, in any other business type); he was doing it mostly for amusement, I think, because he certainly didn't need the money.

Some small businesses are well-run, but generally I find those are the sort done by people who did their time in larger businesses, understand how shit works, and are on their second career following their hearts because they saved up enough from the larger business days to make it possible.

[thene]

I've had some good luck with business owners who lived in the real world for a while and then did business or accounting school after that - including both of the sane halves of the aforementioned partnerships. (Both eventually got pushed out by the bugfuck half, albeit only partially in one case because she was mostly-retiring anyway). The other business I'm working for right now is also owned by two partners, and I'm currently trying to figure out which of them is the evil half. They both seem eerily pleasant and competent thus far.